Is Your Writing “Christian” Enough?

When your passion doesn't look "ministry enough" (and why that's okay)

Years ago, I ran an outdoor blog that was actually doing pretty well. Tent reviews, gear comparisons, trail guides, that kind of stuff.

I was getting decent traffic and affiliate commissions, the comments sections stayed relatively active.

More importantly, the writing came easily because I loved what I was writing about.

At some point, I also started a “christian” blog. One that discussed occult symbolism in modern media.

That one was decidedly different. Posts were infrequent and stilted, and as a result, it didn’t get much traffic.

Looking back now, I think the “christian” blog didn’t work was simple.

It came down to my motivations.

You see, the outdoor content flowed naturally—I could lose three hours researching ultralight shelters and love every minute.

But somewhere deep down, I felt this weight: every "secular" post needed a "spiritual" counterpoint.

As if my tent reviews were letting God down. As if writing about what I loved was selfish unless I balanced it with writing something that really helped people.

Those forced posts on the “christian” blog felt like wearing someone else's clothes. I'd stare at the blank page, trying to manufacture spiritual content that, honestly, bored me to write.

But I kept at it, driven by this vague guilt that I wasn't being Christian enough.

Maybe you know this feeling. Maybe you've got your own thriving blog about photography or psychology or sourdough baking—something that lights you up but leaves you feeling… vaguely guilty.

Maybe you've tried to awkwardly insert Bible verses into posts, or like me, started a parallel "ministry" blog to justify your "real" writing.

Here's what took me too long to learn: God wasn't asking for the balance. I was.

The Weight of "Should"

The guilt didn't come all at once. It crept in through small moments—a well-meaning comment at small group ("So what are you doing for the Kingdom this week?"), a sermon about using our gifts for God's glory, another Christian writer's newsletter filled with scripture and salvation stories.

I'd nod along, and felt the weight settle a little heavier on my shoulders. Here I was, writing about waterproof ratings and trail conditions while other believers were changing lives with their words.

They were writing about eternal things. I was writing about tents.

The message seemed clear, even if no one said it directly: Real Christian writers write Christian content.

They lead Bible studies through their blogs. They share devotionals that make people cry. They use their platform for ministry, not gear reviews.

The Failed Attempts

So I started a separate blog. A Christian one.

I had it all planned out—article topics lined up, categories organized, a vision for ministry impact. This would be how I'd balance the scales, how I'd use my writing "for God."

But every time I sat down to write, I froze.

The truth was, I didn't have the firsthand experience with God that seemed to pour out of other Christian writers.

They wrote about hearing from Him, about transformation, about deep encounters. I had... church attendance. Bible knowledge.

It was a genuine faith, but one that felt secondhand, like I was writing book reports about someone else's relationship.

I'd start drafts about trusting God through trials, but what trials had I really brought to Him? I'd outline posts about prayer, but my own prayer life was sporadic and uncertain. The words felt hollow because they were—I was trying to share water from a well I hadn't figured out how to access yet.

The outdoor blog flowed because I'd lived it. Every gear review came from muddy miles on real trails. But this Christian content? I was writing about a relationship I believed in but hadn't fully experienced. No wonder it felt like wearing someone else's clothes.

I published a few posts, half-hearted attempts that confirmed my fears. While my outdoor content had life and authenticity, these devotionals were dead on arrival.

Eventually, the separate blog became another source of guilt—a monument to what I thought I should be doing but couldn't bring myself to actually do.

There Is No Secular

What changed everything for me was discovering that I'd been living with a lie about how God sees the world.

I'd divided my life into two columns:

• Sacred and secular

• Spiritual and ordinary

• Ministry and "just life."

Church was spiritual. Hiking was secular. Bible study was for God. Tent reviews were for me.

I lived like God only cared about Column A, tolerating Column B as some necessary evil.

But God doesn't see in columns.

When Paul made tents, do you think he stressed about not embroidering Bible verses on each one? When Luke practiced medicine, was he wracked with guilt for setting bones instead of solely saving souls?

I think they understood something I'd missed: when Christ lives in you, He doesn't just show up for the "spiritual" activities.

There is no secular space for the Christian.

Not because we need to force Jesus into every conversation, but because He's already there.

Christ in you doesn't clock out when you start writing about camping gear.

Tolkien, for example, never wrote "Christian fiction." He wrote stories about hobbits and rings and dark lords. Yet Middle Earth is so saturated with a Christian worldview that it has pointed countless readers toward truth without a single altar call.

He understood that excellence in any field—when it flows from a life hidden in Christ—reveals Him whether you name Him or not.

The Transformed Life

This can change everything about how we approach our work.

When Christ is your life—not just part of your life—then your integrity in reviewing outdoor gear is His integrity.

Your commitment to helping readers find the right equipment is His love for people expressed through your expertise.

Your excellence in research and writing is His excellence working through you.

I'd been trying so hard to write for God that I'd missed what it meant to write with God.

The difference is like trying to push a car versus letting the engine power it. One leaves you exhausted; the other takes you places.

Now, this isn't about slapping a Christian label on whatever we want to do.

When Christ lives through you, He actually transforms what you want.

Some desires intensify because they're from Him. Others fade because they were never meant to last. But this transformation happens through relationship, not through guilt-driven column balancing.

Looking back at that outdoor blog, I see Christ all through it. In the honest reviews that helped people make wise purchases. In the refusal to promote garbage for affiliate commissions. In the genuine care for readers who trusted my recommendations.

I thought I was writing "secular" content, but I was actually expressing His character through trail guides.

The Freedom of Surrender

Let me be clear: this freedom isn't "anything goes."

Some people ARE called to write explicitly Christian content, and that's beautiful. Some are meant to lead Bible studies through their blogs, to write devotionals that make people cry, to use their words for direct ministry. If that's you, lean into it with everything you have.

But others are called to be excellent photographers who follow Jesus. Psychologists who bring Kingdom wisdom to mental health. Food bloggers who reveal God's creativity through sourdough. Not because they force spiritual applications into their content, but because Christ-filled people doing excellent work glorifies God.

The key is surrender—real surrender, not the anxious kind that constantly second-guesses every desire.

It's saying, "Lord, I'm available. If you want to redirect me, I trust you to make it clear. Until then, I'm going to write with excellence about what you've given me to write about."

This kind of surrender believes God is big enough to redirect you if needed. It trusts that He can work through your interests, not just in spite of them. It accepts that maybe your "secular" writing is exactly where He wants you.

Because here's what I learned: God isn't disappointed when His children use their gifts with excellence, integrity, and joy—regardless of the topic.

He's disappointed when we bury those gifts out of false guilt or try to force them into molds He never created.

What This Means for Your Writing

So what does this mean for your photography blog, your psychology newsletter, your cooking channel?

First, it means you can stop apologizing for what you write about. Stop downplaying your platform. Stop feeling like you need to justify your "secular" content with parallel ministry projects.

If God has given you expertise and passion in a particular area, steward it with excellence.

Write the best tent reviews the internet has ever seen. Create photography tutorials that help people see beauty in new ways. Share psychological insights that bring healing and understanding.

Do it all with the excellence that honors the God who gifted you—not by forcing His name into every paragraph, but by reflecting His character in how you work.

Trust that He's perfectly capable of redirecting you if He wants you elsewhere. He's not passive-aggressive, dropping hints through guilt while hoping you'll figure it out.

If He wants you writing devotionals instead of travel guides, He'll make it clear.

Until then, write like your topic matters—because it does.

Instead of balancing scales, think about bearing fruit. Jesus said, "I am the vine; you are the branches. If you remain in me and I in you, you will bear much fruit" (John 15:5). He didn't specify what kind of fruit—just that it would come naturally from staying connected to Him.

Your photography might bear the fruit of helping people see beauty in ordinary moments. Your psychology writing might bear the fruit of healing and self-understanding. Your outdoor content might bear the fruit of helping people connect with creation and make wise decisions.

None of this fruit requires you to awkwardly graft spiritual applications onto your content. It grows naturally from who you are in Christ, expressing itself through your unique gifts and interests.

Let Him do the pruning. Stop trying to prune yourself into a shape you think looks more Christian.

A Final Word

I still write about “secular” content, though the passion I’ve found for the Gospel has somewhat eclipsed it.

I write about “christian” things not from obligation but from overflow, because somewhere along the way I discovered that firsthand experience with God I'd been missing. But that's a different story.

What matters is this: the guilt is gone. I don't keep mental spreadsheets anymore. I don't divide my writing into sacred and secular columns. I simply write, and always as someone in whom Christ lives.

Your "secular" newsletter might be exactly where God wants you.

Or maybe He'll redirect you tomorrow.

The beauty of surrender is that you're genuinely open to either possibility.

But today, you're free to write with excellence about whatever He's placed in your hands.

The question isn't whether your writing is Christian enough. The question is whether you're open to letting Him lead—and trusting Him enough to follow, whether that's toward explicitly spiritual content or deeper into your field of expertise.